The Moment of Truth
by Settiai
Summary: Anders felt the world come crashing down around him. Both figuratively and literally.


"The Chantry's authority supersedes the crown in this matter. You cannot hide within the Grey Wardens' ranks."

Anders felt his heart pounding in his chest, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from Rylock. Of course she'd come back for him. He should have _known_ that she'd come back for him. She'd given into the king much too easily, back when Brosca had first conscripted him.

What had he been thinking? He should have known it was too good to be true. His phylactery? Here, in Amaranthine? After all this time? Damn it, he should have known it was a trap. He'd gotten complacent the past month or so. He'd actually started to think that maybe, just maybe, being a Warden really did mean the templars would finally leave him alone.

He should have known better. They'd never let a mage walk free, not if they could stop it.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever and, biting his lip, Anders reluctantly glanced over at Brosca.

The dwarf was just standing there, staring straight back at the templars with an unreadable expression on his face. When Anders glanced his way, though, he slowly uncrossed his arms from where he'd been holding them in front of his chest.

Anders tightened his grip on his staff. If anything, his already pounding heart sped up.

"So you want the mage, do you?" Brosca repeated slowly, a casual tone to his voice that Anders almost believed. The only sign that it might have been at least somewhat feigned was the way his hands had come down to rest on his daggers.

Behind them, there was a shuffling sound as either Nathaniel or Oghren shifted position. Anders didn't even glance back to see who it was. His entire attention was focused on Brosca, every single argument they'd had since he'd been conscripted running through his mind. He'd tried to get on his good side, Maker knew he'd tried, but nothing had worked. The Commander had made it clear from the beginning that he didn't trust magic. He might consider it a useful tool, but he didn't trust it. Which meant he didn't trust anyone who had it.

Anders was fairly certain the Warden Commander hated him. Which didn't bode well for Anders making it out of the mess that he'd led them straight into, not in one piece at least.

Brosca gave the templars a casual smirk as he slowly pulled out one of his daggers, making as if he was cleaning under his nails with it. "Well," he drawled, "if you want him, then you can have him."

And just like that, Anders felt the world come crashing down around him. Both figuratively and literally.

Anders wasn't certain if it had been planned or if the templars were just that damn eager to take him down, but the words were barely out of Brosca's mouth before he felt not one, not two, but _three_ smites hit him at almost the exact same instant. They slammed into him with so much force that it felt almost like a physical blow, and his staff dropped from suddenly lax fingers as he staggered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought that he saw Brosca spin in his direction, something on his face that almost looked like surprise. Anders was too busy focusing on _staying conscious_ to pay much attention, though. Nausea rushed through him, the world spinning dizzyingly around him as he felt his connection to the Fade just… disappear.

He fell heavily to his knees.

The clank of armor was somewhere in front of him, at least one of the templars moving toward him. He needed to fight. He needed to run. He needed to do _something_. But he couldn't, not after being hit by three fucking smites at the same time. He was lucky to even still be conscious, not that he thought that was going to last much longer.

Damn it, he should have run the moment he'd had the chance. Why hadn't he run? He should have known better by now.

Anders blinked a few times, trying to get his blurred vision to focus, and he forced himself to look up. If he was going to die, then he wanted to at least see who was going to be his executioner. Not that he had any doubts.

He wasn't even a little surprised to see Rylock making her way toward him.

Anders took a few shaky breaths, trying his best to push down the urge to start babbling in terror. He was well aware that he had a tendency to run his mouth, especially when he was nervous, but he didn't want that to be the last thing he did. He'd like to think that he had more pride than that, if only a little.

He did his best to straighten up, even though he knew that he didn't have the energy to force himself to his feet.

Then Brosca stepped in front of him.

Anders froze, surprise holding him in place even as the world spun around him.

"You didn't let me finish," Brosca said, the smirk on his face shifting into an almost feral grin. He shifted, daggers in hand. "You can have him—" He paused for a second, drawing the word out. "—over my dead body."

A strangled sound slipped from his lips before Anders could stop it. It wasn't a word, just a surprised noise, but it was enough to make Brosca's shoulders stiffen slightly.

Rylock narrowed her eyes, her gaze drifting from Brosca to Anders and then back again. She straightened up, obviously trying to seem more imposing by towering over the two of them.

"I had heard that you were a reasonable man," Rylock said coldly. "Surely one murderer isn't worth so much trouble."

Brosca glared at her. "He's one of mine," he said, his voice just as cold as hers.

Rylock's grip on her sword tightened. "I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised," she said. "The Grey Wardens have ever been a haven for criminals and maleficar."

Her gaze moved past Brosca to focus on Anders. He glared back at her.

"I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you naught," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Now you come with us."

Brosca shifted, pointedly moving so that he was blocking Anders's view of her. "I already told you," he growled, "that he's one of mine."

Then he threw one of his daggers at her face.

Rylock ducked, the blade just barely missing her eye. Then her sword was up, her eyes flashing with fury, and just like that the fight was on.

A moment later, Anders felt another smite hit him, and he mentally cursed whichever templar it had been. They knew that he wasn't a threat, not at this point, so it was simple cruelty on their part by now.

The world went grey for a moment or two, Anders's vision fading out as he knelt there on the floor and tried to force himself to just _breathe_. He was vaguely aware of the sound of fighting going on around him, the whistling of arrows being shot from Nate's bow and Oghren's shouts and the occasional swear from Brosca.

And then there was one last thump, the sound of a body hitting the ground, and everything went quiet again.

"Anders, look at me."

No matter how weak and sick he felt, there was something about Brosca's voice when he gave an order that made it almost impossible to ignore. Anders forced himself to look up, his vision blurring in and out as he did his best to meet Brosca's gaze.

He managed it for a few seconds. Then he felt himself start to fall forward, his stomach churning at the sudden movement.

Brosca grabbed him before he could hit the floor.

"What's wrong?" Brosca asked, a hint of _something_ in his voice that Anders couldn't quite make out. "Damn it, Anders, I need to know what they did to you."

It took him longer than it should have to force his mouth to work. "Smite," Anders finally managed to choke out, the word coming out almost as if it was a curse. "Hit me with a smite. Three of them. At once. Then they threw in another one just to prove that they're bastards."

Brosca's eyebrow twitched. "Let's pretend I don't know exactly what that means."

Anders opened his mouth. Then he closed it. It hadn't even occurred to him that the Commander might not know what a smite was, but… it made sense, now that he was thinking about. From what he'd heard, less than two years ago the man had never set foot outside of Orzammar.

"Anders?" Brosca asked, and if Anders hadn't known better he would have thought that he heard at least a little worry in his voice.

"I'll be fine," Anders said, trying to keep his voice indifferent. He suspected it probably came out a little icier than he'd meant. "They cut my connection to the Fade. It hurts like the Void when it first hits, but it's not permanent."

Brosca stared at him for a second or two, obviously not believing him.

Finally, a loud belch sounded behind them, drawing Brosca's attention away from Anders's face. Anders followed his gaze.

Nathaniel was gathering up his arrows, a suspiciously blank look on his face. Anders couldn't help but notice that he was purposely avoiding looking too closely at the templars.

Oghren… well, he was being Oghren.

"What do you want us to do with them?" Oghren asked, kicking at one of the templar's bodies with his foot. Then he took another drink from his flask.

Brosca looked around the room for a moment, before his gaze finally stopped on Rylock's body. Then he groaned. "I guess I'm going to need to have a talk with the Reverend Mother at the Chantry."

Anders blanched. "What?"

"Is that wise?" Nathaniel asked, his question overlapping with Anders's. "We did just kill three templars."

Brosca raised an eyebrow. "Three templars who attacked us _and_ ignored that they don't have any authority over Grey Wardens."

Nathaniel crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Do you really think the Chantry is going to care about that?" he asked.

Brosca snorted. "Fuck no," he agreed. "But I do think the Reverend Mother is smart enough not to call without a really good hand. And she doesn't have one, not right now."

Oghren chuckled. "Sometimes I almost forget you're a Duster," he said with a grin. "Then you go and say something like that."

"Shut up, Oghren," Brosca muttered, no real heat to his voice.

"Will, uh, all of us be going to Chantry?" Anders cut in, not even attempting to keep his nervousness out of his voice. He still couldn't quite believe what had just happened, and he didn't want to push his luck any further than it had already been pushed.

Brosca shook his head. "I'm not an idiot," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You and Oghren are going to head back to the inn. There's no need to rile up the Reverend Mother any more that we have to."

He paused for a second and gave Anders a knowing look. "Besides," he added, "you look like you're about to collapse on us."

Anders flushed, a rush of embarrassment shooting through him even though he _knew_ that there wasn't any reason for it. He shoved himself to his feet, breathing deeply as his body and head both protested the movement. He managed to stay standing, even if his vision blurred out for a second or two there and he wasn't entirely certain how long he was going to stay on his feet.

A hand was suddenly on his waist, shoving him back against the wall so that he was leaning against it. And then sliding down it, so that he ended up right back where he'd started, with his ass planted firmly on the ground.

"Damn it, Anders," Brosca growled, his voice practically dripping with annoyance. "That _wasn't_ supposed to be a challenge."

There wasn't really anything to say, so Anders stayed quiet. He pointedly didn't meet Brosca's gaze.

Brosca muttered something under his breath. Anders couldn't quite make it out, but based on the tone he suspected it was probably swearing.

"Oghren, Nathaniel, wait outside for a minute."

Anders didn't look up as he heard the two of them leave the warehouse, the door closing behind them. He just sat there, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach from his sudden movements earlier.

Brosca sighed. "Anders, look at me."

"I'd rather not," Anders said tiredly. Then he grimaced. He hadn't actually meant to say it. The words just slipped out.

There was a long silence.

"Did you really think I was going to hand you over to them?" Brosca asked, his voice surprisingly serious.

Anders still couldn't quite force himself to meet the dwarf's gaze. He just shrugged, grimacing a little as the movement made his nausea worse.

"Why would you think that?" Brosca asked, and there was no hiding the disappointment in his voice.

Anders shrugged again.

Brosca's fist collided with the wall just beside Anders's head, with enough force behind it to surprise Anders into looking up. His gaze met Brosca's, and just like that he couldn't look away.

He'd never the dwarf look quite so forlorn before.

"Anders," Brosca repeated, "tell me _why_."

Anders bit his lip. "You haven't exactly kept it a secret that you hate magic," he pointed out, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Judging by the way Brosca winced, actually _winced_ , he didn't think he succeeded as well as he'd hoped.

There was a long pause before Brosca replied. "I don't get magic," Brosca said finally. "It scares the shit out of me, if you want me to be honest."

Anders felt pretty proud that he managed not to flinch. The expression on his face must have revealed something, though, as Brosca scowled.

"I'm not saying that _you_ scare the shit out of me," Brosca said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm a dwarf."

"Really? That explains the height difference." The words were automatic, out of his mouth before Anders could even think about stopping them.

Something lightened on Brosca's face.

"Smartass," Brosca said with something that sounded almost like fondness. "But seriously, I'm a dwarf. We don't have any of this Fade shit in Orzammar. I mean, the Carta might hire a mage mercenary from time to time, but that's it. Magic's not exactly something I saw a lot of until I came up here to the surface."

"I suppose that makes sense," Anders said reluctantly. Because it did. It made sense. But that still didn't explain why Brosca hadn't handed him over to the templars with a bow wrapped around him.

As if he could read Anders's thoughts, Brosca scowled. "You still don't get it."

"Why you didn't hand me over?" Anders shot back. "No, I don't. You haven't exactly tried to hide the fact that you hate me."

Brosca went still. "What?"

"Do you think that I haven't noticed that you almost never take me with you on missions?" Anders asked, more than a little bitterness in his tone. "Even when you _know_ that you're probably going to need a healer?"

Brosca kept staring at him, his face almost expressionless.

"Nate almost _died_ during your trip into the Deep Roads under the Keep last week," Anders continued, his voice rising in volume. "It was pure luck he didn't bleed to death before you got him to me."

"Wait, you thought—" Brosca trailed off, a staggered look on his face. "You thought that I didn't take you to the Deep Roads because I didn't trust you?"

Anders started to shoot back a sharp retort, but there was something in Brosca's voice that stopped him. "Didn't you?"

"Anders, you almost had a panic attack just from going into the dungeons," Brosca said, more than a little incredulously. "Of _course_ I didn't make you go into the Deep Roads with us, not when it wasn't absolutely necessary. And, believe me, I regretted that decision the second Nathaniel didn't duck fast enough."

Anders gaped at him for a moment. That… hadn't actually occurred to him. "Oh," he said quietly. " _Oh_."

Brosca reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "All this time, you've thought that I—" He trailed off again, his eyes flashing with anger. Anders didn't think it was aimed at him, though, not this time at least. "Damn it."

"I guess I was wrong then?" Anders asked. His hands were fidgeting in his lap.

"Yeah, you were," Brosca agreed tiredly. "Damn it, Anders, you're one of _mine_. I thought you knew that."

Anders paused for a moment. "What exactly does that mean?" he asked curiously. "You mentioned it earlier, when you were talking to Rylock."

Brosca blinked a few times, and something that looked almost sad flashed in his eyes for a second or two before disappearing. "You're part of my crew," he said. "You have my back, and I have yours. End of story."

"As simple as that, huh?" Anders asked dryly.

Brosca nodded, a serious look appearing on his face. "As simple as that."

Anders sat there for a moment in silence, studying Brosca's face. It wasn't the first time he'd looked at the Commander, but in some ways it felt like the first time he'd really _seen_ him. Anders couldn't help but think that he was younger than he'd previously thought, the scruffy beard Brosca wore helping to make him look older than he actually was.

"See something you like?" Brosca asked lightly.

Anders startled, and he felt his cheeks warm a little. Brosca was grinning at him, though, a teasing look on his face.

It probably wasn't the brightest move, but then Anders wasn't known for his genius, well thought-out plans. He leaned in and kissed Brosca.

The kiss only lasted for a moment before Anders pulled away, not entirely certain he wasn't about to get a fist to the face. Brosca just stared at him for a second, one of his fingers coming up to touch his lips.

This time, it was Brosca whose face reddened a little.

Anders raised an eyebrow.

"Right then," Brosca said, his voice only a little strangled. "Let's get you to the inn." He paused for a moment before shooting Anders a rather pointed look. "We'll, uh, be finishing this talk later."


End file.
